


Uninvited Guest

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-26 19:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trickster pays Sam and Dean an unexpected visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uninvited Guest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [love_in_the_stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/love_in_the_stars/gifts).



> Originally started in May 2011 for [](http://loveinstars.livejournal.com/profile)[**loveinstars**](http://loveinstars.livejournal.com/), who [wanted](http://loveinstars.livejournal.com/11059.html) "attention" and "protectiveness" for the then-current round of the Five Acts Meme. This is what grew out of the short draft I began then and rediscovered later; I'm at a loss to know what my original plan was for this fic. If any. :-) Beta'd by [](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/profile)[ellethill](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/). **Continuity/Spoilers:** Set in season 2, but with slight spoilers through season 5. If you know who Gabriel is you should be fine.  
> 

Fuck knows what’s gotten into the Trickster. He’s quiet. Mopey. Dejected. With a hangdog expression like you wouldn’t believe. He is, somehow, alive. And he’s _here_. Staring mournfully at Sam in between bites of the latest of his apparently inexhaustible supply of candy bars. Dean wonders idly if it’s in Trixie’s power to zap them into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory…

“Dean? Hey, Dean, you in there?” Someone’s clicking his weird fingers obnoxiously under Dean’s nose. Dean slaps the hand away, making the bed he’s sitting on creak ominously with the movement.

“What’s the disaster, Sam? Got a run in your stockings or something?”

“Dude, what are we going to do about our… guest?”

“Dunno. Stake through the heart?”

“We haven’t exactly been batting 1000 on that.”

Dean strokes his stubble thoughtfully. Kid’s got a point. This particular monster has been following them around for a week, and they haven’t had much luck with killing him, despite an impressive tally of direct hits. And he _did_ actually help with that last hunt, though possibly he didn’t _mean_ to pop into existence at just the right moment to distract the monster minions who were about to relieve them both of their heads. Jerk certainly claimed credit pretty loudly, though he’d also evaporated out of their sight before they could press him for answers about what he was doing there. Also, now that Dean thinks about it, their last couple of hunts _had_ been kinda cake-walky. Perhaps they’d had a Trickster invisibly helping out for longer than they realised?

“Plus, he doesn’t seem to be posing any real threat at the moment. Just posing.”

The Trickster puts his hand on his heart as if to say _Posing? Moi?_. Dean manages to resist taking this opportunity to mock. “Oh, so we can only kill murderous pagan gods if we actually _catch them in the act_ now? We politely ignore the bodycount?”

The Trickster mumbles something, but it’s hard to make out while he’s chewing. Possibly something about second chances.

“Fine.” Dean can’t be bothered arguing. It’s not like a pagan god can’t do whatever the hell he wants regardless of what they have to say about it. At least until they find out why the stake thing isn’t working. Probably _would_ make more sense to attempt an alliance than to antagonise the guy with the super-powers. “Why don’t you ask him why he’s here?”

“Why don’t _you_ ask him?”

Dean looks from one to the other. “Because it’s you he’s got his eye on. You crazy kids have got _some_ kinda connection going on.” Not that he wants to think about that too much.

Sam shrugs his shoulders and returns to sit at the little round table opposite the Trickster. Dean continues to polish his latest acquisition to the Winchester Silver Knife Department. Won’t do him any good against this asshole, but it makes him feel useful and shit.

“Uh, Mister Trickster?”

“You can call me Loki, if it’s easier,” the Trickster says mournfully. “Or Gabriel. I have other names, but none you could get your monoglot tongue around terribly well.”

“Hey!” Sam complains, “I have some Spanish, and a little French too.”

The Trickster scoffs, then returns his attention to his chocolate.

“So, Gabriel. Dean and I were just wondering what you’re doing here? With us?”

The Trickster lets out a sigh profound enough it probably starts hurricanes in China or something. “Let’s just say I’ve heard some unpleasant news from home—” he glances upwards, as if he’s heard a scuttle of mice in the ceiling or something. Not that unlikely, given the state of this motel. “—about future plans for the family business, and as a result I’ve decided to put the tricking on hold. Thought I’d try out hunting instead.”

He smiles sweetly at Dean, before turning to glare at Sam. “Also, I can’t get your stupid face out of my head, okay? I keep imagining fifty thousand ways to make you _happy_. I think I’ve been cursed.”

He flickers out of existence, but returns promptly with a tray of coffees from some place that isn’t Starbucks. “Or Tricked.” His face twists up in rage. “Someone’s gonna pay.” When he turns to beckon Dean over, his expression has completely changed. “Come on, come on, get it while it’s hot! I got your favourites!” And he selects his own drink from the tray, waves it under his nose, closes his eyes and sighs indulgently as he takes in the aroma.

Dean decides that this guy would probably think it beneath him just to randomly hand them poison and expect them to drink it. So the coffee’s probably fine. He takes one. It’s a chocolatey-nutmeg-y-explosion of caffeinated awesome. He groans at the first taste.

“So,” Gabriel says, sounding kinda smug now, “I’m moving in. I’m told I snore. Also, if Sam dies the world’s probably going to end. Shh, family secret. But it’s not all bad. You remember those lovely girls I made for you, Dean? Plenty more where those came from. Or boys, if you prefer.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam says, with just enough emphasis on the first word that Dean doubts a shrewd dude like this Gabriel will miss it.

Nope. Trixie’s eyes get all big and bulgy like a cartoon character spotting something delicious. “Oh ho!” he says, and taps a little ditty on the tabletop. “If only the London bookmakers would have given me odds on that, I could have really cleaned up. Sam Winchester, eh? A great big gangly bisexual.”

Sam ducks his head and sips his coffee, managing to hide most of his face behind his cup and his bangs.

“Good for you, Sam-a-lot. I never understood this recent human monosexuality nonsense. I mean, _why_? Where’s the fun in it?”

“Ask Dean,” Sam mutters.

Dean holds up his hands. He’s not gonna get caught up in _that_ kind of argument, thanks muchly. “Don’t ask me. I’m just one guy. I don’t speak for anyone.”

“Ooh, someone’s got a sore spot. Might have to prod at that one, for his own good.” He waggles his eyebrows at Sam “We’ll plot that one later,” he stage-whispers, taps a finger to his lips. “So, shall we go to Disneyworld? We could kidnap us some cartoon characters! Brew tea in the teacups! Dance on the top of—”

“We’ve got work to do, actually, Gabriel.” Sam sounds very calm, patient, and reasonable. Little bro should have taught kindergarten or something.

“Ooh, a hunt? Are there scantily-clad co-eds in danger? Ghosts running amuck in Victoria’s Secret? Mysterious monster lurking in shady downtown porn studio? Zombies in the chocolate factory?”

“Yeah.” Dean snorts, setting down one freshly cleaned and polished knife and pausing to sip his coffee before moving onto the next in line. “You get how all those things sound fun? It won’t be anything like that.”

“Oh,” Gabriel says, and pouts. Then he brightens. “But, on the other hand… Save the cheerleader, save the world, right?” He bats his lashes at Sam. “Say hello to your new bodyguard, cheerleader.”

“I’m not a—”

“He’s quoting a TV show, Sam.” Dean waits the perfect comic interval. “And dude, you so are.” He and Gabriel share a look, and the way the Trickster _twitches_ tells Dean that they’re thinking the same thing. “Don’t,” he mouths. “He wouldn’t think it was very funny.”

“Oh, but we would,” Gabriel says.

Dean covers his eyes.

Gabe snaps his fingers.

Sam swears.

Profusely.

 

***END***


End file.
